


Unspoken

by Trash



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, M/M, briefly mentioned het, onesided wincest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-18
Updated: 2015-03-18
Packaged: 2018-03-18 11:28:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3567992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trash/pseuds/Trash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam loses his virginity. Dean doesn't understand why he isn't thrilled.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unspoken

The first time Sam does it with a girl Dean is waiting up for him with a beer and a filthy smile on his face. “How was she?” he asks, waggling his eyebrows.

Sam feels his face heat up and he clears his throat, frowning at the floor. “I...it was...thanks,” he says, accepting the beer. It’s lukewarm because this motel doesn't have a refrigerator, and Dean has to pop the cap for him because his hands feel like they belong to someone else. All in all, it’s pretty anticlimactic.

“Well?”

“It...wasn't what I was expecting,” Sam manages eventually, staring at his beer for a full minute before taking a drink just for some stage business.

Dean snorts. “Did her dad chase you out the house with a shotgun? ‘Cause if he did, you did it right.”

“No. God. Nothing like that.”

“Did you come?”

“Dean! Jesus. We are not...I’m going to bed.” He thrusts his beer into Dean’s hand and pulls off his jacket, throwing it onto the chair by the bed. Dad sprung for them to have a room of their own this time round. Sam always thought he’d be glad, that it would make him feel independent. In reality, he wishes they were all crammed into one room. At least he wouldn't have to endure Dean’s narrow-eyed curiosity, the ideas visibly spinning around his brain.

“Do I need to kick someone’s ass here, Sammy?” Dean asks.

Sam laughs. “Just mine. I should have enjoyed it, right? Maybe I wasn't drunk enough.” He steps into the bathroom and closes the door behind him, standing in the darkness for a while before turning on the light. In the bedroom he can hear Dean moving around, humming something tunelessly to himself the whole time. Never could appreciate silence, Dean. Meeting his own eyes in the mirror Sam is disgusted to see the purple hickey sucked onto the side of his neck. For half a second he wishes his family were the kind of be horrified by that kind of thing, that they were the ‘invite her over for dinner, honey’ type. But they aren't. He wonders if they were, when mom was alive.

This train of thought is a blatant distraction from the issue at hand, but a welcome one regardless. He wonders if he can stay in the bathroom long enough for Dean to fall asleep, just so he doesn't have to face another round of Twenty Questions. He brushes his teeth with more force than is probably necessary and spits blood into the sink. With any luck, dad will let him go with him and Dean on the hunt tomorrow. He needs something better than himself to take this rage out on.

He turns off the light and goes back into the bedroom. Dean is on Sam’s bed, reclining with his headphones in, mouthing along to something playing through his Walkman. Sam just sighs and pulls off his t-shirt and jeans, pulling back the covers on Dean’s bed and preparing to climb under them when a hand shoots out and grabs his wrist. He jerks away as if burned.

Dean pulls out his headphones slowly, the room filling with the tinny sound of Blue Oyster Cult. “Dude.”

“What?” Sam snaps.

Dean laughs, humourlessly. “Most people are chilled the fuck out when they've gotten laid but you have even more of a stick up your ass than usual. Why won’t you just talk to me, instead of playing the moody teenager card? That shit got old a few states back, let me tell you.”

There are so many words on the tip of Sam’s tongue but they dry up as he opens his mouth. Setting his jaw he manages “Goodnight, Dean.” Turning away he gets into Dean’s bed and stares at the wall. Outside a truck swings by and its headlights illuminate the room for a moment. Next door a baby cries. And all the while Sam lies there with his eyes open, waiting for his brother to read his mind. 

“Fine, suit yourself,” Dean says, sounding worn out. He flicks off the light and plunges the room into darkness. 

Sam counts all the way to ten minutes before he dares to roll over. The light that the shitty motel curtains let through falls over Dean’s face making him look like a fucking work of art. Sam wants nothing more than to reach out and trace his features, find his freckles in the dark. Instead he clutches his sheets closer and thinks of the girl. 

Her name is Jade, _my friends call me Jadey_. But the name on his lips was someone else’s. 

Dean’s eyes move beneath his eyelids. Sam wonders what he dreams of. Monsters? Heroes? Mom? Dad? Him?

No. Probably not him.

“Dean,” Sam whispers. “Dean,” he tries again, more urgently.

Dean’s eyes flutter open and he grunts.

“I love you,” Sam says. He tries to put his everything into it, to make it as transparent as he can.

“Love you too, man,” Dean says. “Now go the fuck to sleep.”

Something cold settles in the pit of Sam’s stomach and he nods to himself, closing his eyes against the sharp burn of tears rising in his throat. 

When he awakes in the morning he’ll tell himself the smooth planes of skin he dreamed of pressed against him belonged to Jade.


End file.
